Eureka - I found it!

Two posts in one day ... a new record! Or, maybe one more way I'm avoiding the mountain of homework on my desk. Homework is so overrated.

So, my intent has been to not burden you with detailing the crappy hand I’ve been dealt lately. I realize that everyone has their own issues and they don’t come to my blog to be weighed down with my problems. I guess some people do exist out there that take great joy in reading about people whose lives aren’t perfect. For those people, I take satisfaction in withholding the details as to not feed that creepy addiction.

Regardless of my reasons though, it is hard to not let any part of those issues surface in my writing. Sixteen days ago (but who is counting, right?), my life was turned upside down and that situation is as much a part of me as everything else I write about here.

Yes, it has been a struggle. I don't like struggles. I’ve already told you once about my need for music, remember? Well, after weeks of being in this funk, I found THE song that is helping me put some of these feelings into words.

I’ve been playing it OVER and OVER and OVER again and I anticipate that this intense musical therapy will get me over this hurdle soon, really really soon. Recently I read an interview with Alexa Ray Joel and she talked about her need to find a song to get her through every tough time. So, even if you think I am crazy, at least I know there is one more of me out there in this world of crazy.



So, I am sorry if I’ve drug you down – but I am all about keeping it real here.

Enjoy my song and know that I am finding comfort in it and moving onward and upward.

You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family

My brother-in-law Marc is a pretty funny guy. I think he’s funny in the fact that I enjoy watching him drive my poor sister crazy with his antics. It’s that sisterly love kicking in, I guess. We got to spend some time with the two of them over the Thanksgiving holiday. My sister is six-months pregnant right now. And I mean a VERY obvious six months pregnant. When you weight 100 pounds, it's not hard to look REALLY pregnant. I mean she is the type of pregnant where people comment that she must be ready to deliver at any moment, or is somehow hiding triplets in there. I think that is funny, she does not.

At one point, Marc and my sister Laine had to head to the store for some groceries. My sister inadvertently turned down the liquor aisle in search of something non-liquor related on her list. Her dear husband took great joy in loudly exclaiming, “Laine, you can’t drink alcohol, you are PREGNANT.” Now, if that were me, I would have come up with some loud, embarrassing, comeback, but that’s not my sister’s style. Instead, she quietly ignored him, hoping no one else in the store heard him either, wishing that she’s drop through some miraculous trap-door appearing in the floor. Moments later, at the checkout aisle, he quickly struck again, “Laine, you can’t buy any cigarettes, you are PREGNANT.”

Initially, I was concerned that Craig might pick up some ideas about the fun to be had in public humiliation. Then I realized that even if he did, I would easily beat him at that game. I almost hope he tries it …

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

I know, I know, I am supposed to tell you all Happy Thanksgiving and list all the things that I am thankful for, right?

Instead, you get this:

Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday dear, awesome, wonderful, spectactular, Lyndsay.
Happy Birthday to me.

I’ve already had a not so great start to my birthday, so I am going to add this clause: Dearest family, I hate pumpkin pie. If you try to pass off pumpkin pie as my birthday cake again this year, consider us estranged. It didn’t fly in 1996 and it’s not going to fly this year either.

Oh, and now that I’ve made my birth date public, you can just erase it from your minds, as it is the last one I plan on celebrating. Birthdays end at 29, right?

Not wrong, just funny

I will be the first to admit that my humor can be a little off sometimes. I swear, I was born that way. There must be a mutated gene somewhere in my body that gave me a corrupted sense of humor. I’m secretly hoping that Kate inherited this gene, because life is so much funnier on this side. I promise.

I’m proposing an expansion to my office, because I am not sure how all of these are going to fit on my wall. Don’t dare to make me choose people. I’ve already narrowed it down to my favorites. Enjoy! Special thanks to Ree for blogging about these awhile back, I was deprived for too long.

Beauty: Not as funny, only because it's true.



Compromise: I'm just sayin'



Conformity: Just funny



Demotivation: When all else fails



Dysfunction: *snort*



Failure: *snort*



Get to Work: I can think of a couple of places I'd like to give this to. Like maybe the pharmacy ...



Give Up: *cackle*



Humiliation: For those with more ambition than talent.



Ignorance: When your coworkers all of a sudden seem to be agreeing and getting along.



Incompetence: *snort*



Indifference: I'm enjoying this new perspective



Mediocrity: *snort*



Problems: Just wrong. And funny.



Procrastination: Finally, a slogan to go under my nameplate.



Tradition: *double snort*



Wishes: Sick and wrong.




I'm not sure what I can add to conclude this post ... I hope some of you share my humor. I guess if you didn't, you wouldn't read my blog, right?

How I shouldn't be spending my money

I used to be a clothes snob, but haven’t been able to afford that luxury in a long time. Plus, well, when baby weight hangs on for three years, there just isn’t much appeal to clothing shopping. However, I don’t pass up a good deal when I see it. For you clothing peeps, here is a sale I couldn’t resist today.

Ann Taylor Loft has a lot of great things 40% off their already marked down prices. Use code 10601376 for an additional 20% off and free shipping. I just bought three awesome pairs of suit pants for $76 shipped. If you haven’t bought pants from there, they run big. Another reason why I love Ann Taylor, I am totally a size 4 in their world. That’s not shallow, that is a fact and I have three new pairs of pants on their way to prove it.

I am working on a great post for this afternoon, so check back soon. In the meantime, happy shopping!

I prefer to think it adds character

I have this weird habit that drives Craig crazy. We all have our idiosyncrasies, but why do people feel compelled to point out exactly what it is that you do that is odd? If you think you don’t have a strange quirk, come and hang out with me for a few and I’d be happy to tell you what yours is. I think people who think they are the most normal are the furthest from it. I’m not Freud, but I think I am on to something.

So, back to me, because we all know I’m far from perfect, I have no qualms about sharing. I don’t use salt on my food often and when I do, I only use a teeny, tiny bit. However, I can’t just shake the salt on my food. I have to hold out my hand and shake the salt over my fingers, onto my food. I don’t get it, it makes no sense, so don’t ask. I justify it by thinking that I’m intuitively making sure I don’t put too much salt on there. It drives my husband nutty, but I can’t help it. It’s like a tick.

In the event of a marital dispute (assuming that we would ever engage in such an activity), I don’t need to yell, scream, or kick. All I need to do is grab the salt shaker and start using it to prove victorious. The annoyance will be so distracting that he’ll forget what we were arguing about. It’s a little tactic that I am glad to have in my arsenal, you know, in the event that I’d ever need it. Should I be disheartened that I have the ability to inflect such annoyance on another person? Oh good, because I don’t.

So, what is your most annoying quirk?

If you don’t know what it is, ask the person closest to you, I am sure they’ll share.

Hello?

Is this thing on?

Gratitude

First, I appreciate your well wishes and concerns. I also take a small amount of solace in knowing I’m not alone in my not-so-stellar moments of impatience. We should start a club; I’ll buy jackets. I'm going to delegate the catchy slogan to one of you. For those of you hoping my day gets better, or week gets better, I only wish it were such an easy solution. Unfortunately it isn’t and it won’t be, but things will move forward as they always do.

In the meantime, I plan to indulge in copious amounts of retail therapy, chocolate, coffee, and wine. I’m not going to offer a single excuse, or feel an iota guilty about it. If any future posts leave you wondering where my mind is, it’s safe to assume that it’s the Pinot Noir talking. Okay, probably not, but it’s such a nice excuse to have. Over the past week, I’ve come to appreciate the fact that I have so many wonderful friends in my life that care so deeply. I’ve always known that, but it’s so nice to be reminded at a time when you need them. I’m not sure life gets better than friends, does it?

When all of the above don’t help, I play this. Jessica knows me too well, because this video it so not right. I love it.



In the face of great trials and tribulations, take comfort in the funny. Always take comfort in the funny.

Bring It

This week has been an insanely horrible week in our house due to reasons I’m not up to explaining to the internet. I’ll just say it ranks up there with a few of the worst I’ve had. Ever. I tell you this for a couple of reasons. First, I’ve not spent much time with Kate this week. Second, I’ve felt immensely guilty for how little quality time I’ve spent with her. Mommy guilt is not good. Third (and perhaps most significant) is that my patience is pretty much non-existent and my emotional state is more volatile that the status of America’s current financial market. I’ve been one the verge of losing my shit pretty much all week.

Tonight when we got home, Kate really wanted to make banana muffins. I mean, really wanted to make banana muffins. I was torn between making muffins, standing outside in the snow in my bare feet for hours, or listening to nails on a chalkboard. Given the mommy guilt factor, I decided I should embrace the muffins.



Muffin making went pretty much like this:

Dump dry ingredients together. Kate sticks finger into dry ingredients. Tell Kate no. Kate sticks finger right in the baking power, sticking a big finger full in her mouth.

Kate looks at me in horror and spits it out INTO THE BATTER.

Undeterred, we press on. Kate gets to the fifth banana and decides that one is for her. I mash the other bananas while she eats the remainder of the ingredients. Kate loses interest in the banana, smashing it under her leg and letting it collect various random particles from the surrounding areas.



I turn my back to check the oven and return to finish mixing the batter. Can’t find the fork. Where is the damn fork? Kate points to the bottom of the batter. I mean, why wouldn’t you bury the fork in the bottom of the bowl? Mom looks like she needs tested, right? While retrieving the vanishing fork, Kate picks up the mangled, half-eaten, infested banana mentioned earlier and throws it into the bowl.

Some good quality bonding time we were having, I tell you.



I inform Kate that we aren’t cooking these putrid muffins. She rebukes with shrieks that knock the earth just slightly out of orbit, so I oblige *shudder*.

I think this is the Universe’s way of flipping me off.

Lack of Self-Control

So, whose idea was it to put a Starbucks in our Target? I’d like to meet them so I can punch them in the face. No, not really. In fact, I’ll just open my savings account and give them every last penny in it. I mean, I can part with it now, or part with it one tortuous Target trip at a time, right?

Why is it that I can’t leave Target without spending $100? Why is it that I buy all of these things at Target that I didn’t know I needed until I got there? Plus, it’s hard enough for me to resist my one Starbucks of the morning, but then dangle one my face during my afternoon shopping trip? I’m totally done for.

So, dear internet, when we are living in a cardboard box and I am begging you for donations, you can all look at each other and nod, “It was totally Target and Starbucks. She has no self control.”

Livin' on the Edge

I used to be fearless. I spent the majority of my teenage years believing I was invincible, which resulted in some really stupid decisions. We will save those for another day though, okay? I've got a reputation to protect around here. Besides, no would actually believe that I used to be fun. Gasp. I lived life with reckless abandon, carefree and adventure seeking. In retrospect, I am probably lucky I came out of those years unscathed.

Then, I grew up and got boring. And wimpy. And predictable. Dare I think of doing something that isn’t on my calendar? Spontaneity, what’s that? Do you know the risks of doing XYZ? Seriously, when did I get so cautious?

Apparently, it is something that sweet Kate didn’t inherit.



Disclaimer: Whoever designed this house must have graduated from the Last Resort Design School: Catering to Those Who Couldn’t Make it Elsewhere. Anyway, our laundry room is connected to the kitchen and family room, complete with no place to fold clothes. Accordingly, clothes get hauled out to the couch to get folded. Kate takes great joy in interrupting this progress.



Carefree? Loving Life? I'd say so.



At least I'll be able to live vicariously through her.

For what it's worth, we don't typically condone furniture jumping around here. She caught me in a weak moment.

You do what with that?

I spent the rest of the weekend doing officially nothing. We all sat around the house, recuperating from our various aliments. Occasionally, I thought about the things that needed to get done around the house. Operative word being "thought". Unfortunately, the housekeeping fairies didn’t catch the vibe I was putting out. So, we had good intentions around here, but just basked in our laziness and watched a lot of TV.

HGTV and TLC are great time wasters. I love all of the real estate and property renovation shows. What amazed me this weekend was the plethora of houses that had bidets in their bathrooms. I don’t consider myself unsophisticated, but if living in the lap of luxury includes this strange invention, I think I’ll pass. I’m being one of those judgmental people making assessments about something without trying it, but I’m just not feeling it. How about you?

Just a side note, as I gingerly investigated the origins of the bidet, I learned that people often use them for an additional purpose: a baby bath. Ewww. Gag. Yuck.

Share your thoughts, I can't wait to hear them.

At least the drugs are legal

How many pharmacies must you go to find one that carries Valium in the appropriate dose for a child? Six. There is no punch line, no joke, it is just a glimpse into how we spent our Friday night.

This week has been an awful week. I have bad luck that defies all bad luck. No seriously, like I think it defies statistical odds. For illustrative purposes, let me give Kate’s birth as an example. The odds that a full-term baby is breech 1:25 (check). The percentage of c-sections requiring the use of general anesthetics (meaning not.awake.at.all) 8% (check). The percentage of epidural injections resulting in a lumbar puncture/spinal headache 1% (check). The likelihood of all three happening to the same patient? Literally unheard of. Let’s just say, we don’t waste our money on lottery tickets around this place. But, I digress.

A quick recap of the night:

Daycare calls, kid is complaining that neck hurts.

Neck still hurts when kid is picked up at daycare.

Kid's left shoulder slouching much lower than the right one.

Kid's neck gets stiff.

Kid won’t turn her neck to the left side, walking around like John McCain. Oh, that wasn’t funny, I should take that back.

Mom calls kid's pediatrician, who says go to the ER immediately. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

The Worse Case Scenarios Flash through mom's head.

Sit in ER for two hours with hungry, tired toddler who is oddly obsessed with the neighbors “scary hat”.

Find out she has torticollis, which basically is a big muscle spasm in her neck. It is likely triggered while sleeping and could go away on its own or require massive intervention and physical therapy. Well, we all know which category we will end up in, right?

Get prescription for Valium, which is supposedly a mild muscle relaxer. Guess whose kid is going to be sleeping better than your kid tonight?

Just kidding. I honestly can’t bring myself to give it to her when she’s acting okay. It’s a little freaky deaky if you ask me.

To pee or not to pee

This week is midterm week in my two classes. My brain is full of words like collusion, anti-trust, mergers, and expectation-performance gaps. It’s taking up valuable brain space and I’m having a difficult time transitioning back to normal words. Forgive me.

So, after our last potty training catastrophe, I gave it a little break. I told Kate that they no longer made big M&M’s, they only made mini-M&M’s, and then suddenly they just stopped making them at all. It sort of solved that problem. We just need to avoid the candy aisle for the next ten years. Also, a couple of weeks ago, she really wanted to go into the three-year old Sunday School room at church. I told her that was only for kids who didn’t wear diapers. End of discussion. She really wants to be in that room. She found her own motivation, uninfluenced by me.

So, last Friday she just decided she was ready to potty train. She started using the potty, asks every time, hasn’t had an accident since, and has stayed dry every night. I am NOT kidding you. The optimist in me is totally giddy and thankful it was so easy. (Beth, please don’t hurt me.) The realist in me understands how this all played out. Kate very adamantly showed us she would do what she wanted, when she wanted, in her own darn time, thankyouverymuch. I'm not a fortune teller, but I think this means really big problems for the next 18 years.

The one problem I’ve encountered with having a potty trained toddler is the archenemy, the public toilet. Kate doesn’t like public toilets because THEY DON’T HAVE A LID, THEY DON’T HAVE A LID MOM. Poor kid doesn’t realize the lack of a lid is the least worry to have about a public toilet. Also, do you realize how difficult it is to sit a tiny toddler on a public toilet? You know, with that big gaping hole in the front? If there isn't a product on the market to combat this, someone better get on that, STAT! It is impossible to conquer without one, or both of you, touching some part of the toilet. That is something I’ve spent my adult life avoiding contact with.

Cheaper than therapy

Music is an integral part of me, truly therapeutic. I often go through phases of listening to different music. There are times I get stuck on one artist, one album, or even one song for a riduculous amount of time. When Craig gets into my car during those streaks, he look incredulously at me, like you are not really going to even think about playing that song ONE MORE TIME. Then he flings himself out of the door into oncoming traffic. That is how we compromise around here.

Music is so expressive and there is infinite emotion in it. It has always been an outlet, a warm security blanket for me. Just consider yourself warned, because if you stick around here, you will see this theme repeated over and over and over again. To me, music offers a mental escape, something that my overactive mind often needs. More often than not, I can find a song that conveys my emotions better than any words could. Depending on my mood, my musical taste fluctuates. I just work that way. I just finished a book, Leading with Soul (totally recommend it), and the author said, "Music is the algebra of feelings." Uh huh.

Ray LaMontange is a person who is totally fascinating to me. To see him speak in an interview, you see someone awkward, foreign to his own skin. It is almost painful to watch him struggle in front of the camera. However, behind the microphone, he is alive and transforms into an amazing artist. It is powerful. His song Jolene has been in the back of my mind for weeks and it just takes my breath away. Often it is hard for me to identify what draws me to a song, so I will not slaughter it by trying to explain why I love this song.



Today is a sad day. I have to attend a funeral for my dear friend Jessica's dad. My heart breaks for her, and it hits way too close to home for me. Hard to believe my own dad has been gone over five years. Still feels like yesterday.

Heavy things.

Back to them fun and games tomorrow.

Bring on Steinbeck and Fitzgerald

I’m so proud of you guys. Tear. I’m not alone in my gas station sandwich trepidation. The rest of you, we will convert you, somehow. My brain doesn’t fully engage on Monday mornings, so you guys were a riot. I think a found a new blog tradition: Ask the Audience Mondays. We will solve all of the problems of the world. You know, harsher punishment for parole violators Stan. And world peace!

One day last month, I was trying to get some organizing done around the house. Translation: try to clean the house enough to even find the stuff that needs organized, wind up exhausted, poor a drink, and sit on the couch watching Two and a Half Men. I heart organizing. I had great intentions this time though, I bought a few large storage bins and I was seriously pondering taking action. While I was plotting my approach, my darling daughter played quietly in the other room. Instead of basking in my good fortune, I immediately realized something must be wrong.

I turned the corner and found Kate doing some organizing of her own. I have a bookshelf that my dear husband built that is full of books. I am not talking about a wimpy little bookshelf. I am talking about a My Bookshelf Could Beat Up Your Bookshelf kind of shelf. It is 8 feet tall by 10 feet wide and takes up one entire wall of my office. Kate had taken all of my storage bins and filled them with books FROM the bookshelf, many, many, many books. Before I had a chance to freak out and ground her until she turned 18, I saw her sitting in one of the bins, engrossed in a book. Her brow was furrowed, eyes intently focused, as she slowly flipped the pages.


click to enlarge

When I saw what she was reading, I swelled with pride. I know, I know, she can't read. Isn't that even more impressive? She's so smart she's pretending to read Salinger. For the record, she gets her good taste from me. Like mother, like daughter. I think this is proof that she’s totally destined to be a nerd. Nerds are making a comeback, no?

Desperately grappling for ammunition

I’d like to welcome readers from Beth’s One Minute Writer today. If you have an additional 60 second, click here to learn a little bit about me and my blog. To my regular readers, if you haven’t checked out the One Minute Writer, you should. You will no longer have an excuse for not having time to blog, write, or journal. Good stuff.

Now, if you have an additional 60 seconds (I haven’t wasted all of your seconds yet, have I?), you must help resolve the Sandwich Debate of November 2008. You know how gas stations sell those premade sandwiches? I am not talking about subs, or some other kind of fairly normal turkey and cheese sandwich. I am referring to the truly premade ones: egg salad and tuna salad sandwiches from.a.gas.station. Please take a moment to tell me what you think about these obscure sandwiches. Perhaps you think they perfectly nutritious and a wonderful accompaniment to any lunch. Maybe you think they would do in a pinch, but you’d never go out of your way to buy one. Or, maybe you think you’d rather starve, or eat the sandwich container, than eat that substance masquerading as food. Maybe you have no idea what I am talking about, so that is an option too.

If you have an opinion about these particular sandwiches, I would appreciate them. I don't take bets lightly. The stakes are high to resolving this argument, I promise.

Kate's Bathroom: Take One

Whenever I see pictures of Kate's old bathroom, I envision Winnie and Kevin in the background. You know, singing what would think if I sang out of tune, would you stand up and walk out on me. Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, and I'll try not to sing out of key. Oh I get by with a little help from my friends, I get high with a little help from my friends, oh I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends.



If you read about our last bathroom and corresponding renovation, this one pretty much follows the same formula. Take the ugliest bathroom wallpaper available, match with the gaudiest hanging bathroom lights, and top with the nastiest bathroom vanity known to mankind. Before you go calling CPS for subjecting our daughter to such disastrous design taste, I can at least affirm that it’s clean. That counts for something, right?



I’ve always been a wallpaper hater. I’ve removed more wallpaper from our last two houses than I care to talk about. I still have flashbacks of Dif and bloody fingernails when I think about it. However, and I shudder at saying this, we are putting wallpaper BACK up in Kate’s bathroom. See, when we took the old wallpaper off, this is what we found.



This is 28 year old wallpaper paste that isn’t going to go anywhere. Those bathroom walls and I have those two things in common; we are both 28 and stubborn as hell. Quickly our options became wallpaper or new drywall. All of a sudden I felt a little guilty that I have been such a wallpaper hater. Hopefully it doesn't hold a grudge.

Our glamorous weekend (and giveaway winner)

Time is up! Thanks to everyone who entered my first ever giveaway. Per Random.org, I’m excited to announce #20 Anna L. as the winner. Email me at lyndsay@iusedtobewitty.com with your address.

This weekend is shaping up to be chaotic, yet hopefully productive. We have company coming to town (my mom and brother - yea!) and a plethora of homework to complete. I’m quite encouraged on the school front today, as I just received notice of the A I got in my last course. Yeah, you know, Personnel Management, which should have been Personal Management. Apparently I can still manage other people, but haven’t made progress on managing myself yet. I’m so uncooperative. Ask me how I feel about school on Monday and when my head spins around 15 times and I give you the Ice Queen stare, you’ll have your answer.

The fun project we are working on this weekend is Kate’s bathroom. Kate’s bathroom is currently a contender for the freaking ugliest possible room imposed upon mankind grand prize. Through the weekend, I’ll be posting some before – during – after pictures. Get your barf bags positioned. It’s bad. Really bad.

Love at first sniff - Giveaway

Time's Up! Congrats Anna L.

I really like the whole “ignorance is bliss” approach to life. I’ve also really come to realize that ignorance is typically cheaper and less stressful as well. I don’t profess to be the healthiest person, or most cautious consumer, but there are a few areas that are nonnegotiable in our house.

At some point last year, I became aware of the fact that there was no FDA regulation on cosmetics, which also included baby lotions and wash. Upon further inspection, I found that many of the “popular” brands that we were using were being linked to a variety of cancers and reproductive issues. I know some people take the whole “something is going to kill you” approach, but when it comes to a little one, it’s just not kosher with me.

You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run.

So, it was one of the first changes we made – looking for natural, safe baby wash and lotions. I’ve tried a handful, spent a fortune, and not liked any. Until … I found this product at Target. I love Method’s line anyway, but their new baby line is to die for. Semi-reasonably priced and smells so good I want to use it myself. The only downside? It doesn’t make a lot of bubbles, but we can live with that.



Even if you don’t “go natural” in this area, you won’t find scent this yummy. Because I love this so much and want to share the joy, I'm going to do my first ever giveaway. To enter, leave a comment and tell me what items you "go green" or "go organic" with. If your answer is nothing, that's okay too. I am an equal opportunity gifter. If you don't have a Google account and post under anonymous, make sure to leave your name in your comment!

If you are a fellow blogger and refer someone here who wins, I'll send you one too.

This post was not endorsed by Method. Method has no idea who I am. Check back tomorrow for our winner.

On the cover of the Rolling Stone

One night last week, Kate took a particular interest in this Elmo guitar that she’s had forever and barely glanced at. Craig was insistent upon showing her how to hold it the right way when she was playing. I mean, the kid has to have form when playing with her toys, right? Anyway, she kept playing this creepy rendition of the Sesame Street theme song that appeared to have been recorded by Jimi Hendrix after a lot of drugs. Elmostock 2008, tickets are going fast. After a few minutes, she looked Craig and I in the face with the most intent expression and said, “I need a stage so I can ROCK.”

The most common phrase in our house right now is, “I have no idea where she came from.”

Introducing Exhibits A & B

Here is Miss Kate in her Strawberry Shortcake costume. We went vintage Shortcake. Did you know that Shortcake is wearings jeans and a t-shirt these days?



Also, I have the pleasure of introducing you to the giant jawbreakers. The yogurt is there just to give some size comparison. So, they aren't the size of a small child, but they are still huge! Notice the color missing on the blue one? That's from all the licking ...

Halloween: The PG-13 Version

To say that Kate loved Halloween truly does not do the situation justice, but we will leave it at that. She had no qualms or hesitation about what trick-or-treating entailed, so she was a kid on a mission. For the record, candy is fairly limited in our house, so if anyone had hesitations about how the night would go, it was me. For all you haters out there, we DO give her candy, just not very much. Kate’s idea of candy is fairly limited to two things; suckers and M&M’s. Don’t tell me I am mean, it won’t make any difference. However, if you are so inclined, I will fill her up with candy and send her to your house. After you witness the aftermath, I think you’d congratulate us for the rare indulgences that we allow her.

As far as how the night played out, I am lucky she’s cute and at the age where manners are still encouraged, but not obligatory. Our trick-or-treating experience mostly consisted of her attempting to grab handfuls of candy from unsuspecting candy-hander-outers. Then, at our neighbor’s house, he told Kate to take one for her mom and dad too. Do you know what that resulted in? Yes, at each house, she’d look up and innocently say, “ …and one for my mommy and daddy too?” We looked like winners then, sending the bait up to steal candy for mom and dad. Her other famous line, after people had generously allowed her to pilfer handfuls of candy, was “Do you have any suckers?” The greedy kid looked totally unappreciative and a little deranged since the candy that she was getting would put a sucker to shame. After she scored her loot, she’d say thanks and turn around and say, “Okay, TWO more houses.”

The highlight of our night came when we got to one of the last few houses in the subdivision. The lady was handing out jawbreakers the size of small children, or at least the size of tennis balls. I’m serious. If I were at home, I’d take a picture of it. You could forgive someone without kids, who might not realize what a bad idea a crater sized jawbreaker would be to a toddler. However, this lady is the mother of SEVEN children. There is no excuse. So, then I started thinking of the whole ideology that with the first kid you sterilize their pacifier, with the second you wash it under tap water, and with the third you don’t even wipe it off. Apparently by the time you get to #7, there is nothing sacred.

Kate was obsessed with these two jawbreakers, which she kept lovingly calling “balls”. As we continued to walk through the neighborhood, she stealthily kept trying to get them out of her bucket. When I wouldn’t let her, she would erupt in a series of “where are my balls?” and “I want my balls”. I turned around for a moment and saw her licking one of the blue jawbreakers. Since I don’t allow any type of fun, or enjoyment in our house, l made her put it back in the bucket. Seriously, if she got that thing in her mouth, I can guarantee you it would be lodged in there. If you let your imagination wander, you can guess where the conversation went next. One hint: she continued talk about licking. Are you there yet? What did she call her jawbreakers? Yes, you got it, balls. It was a moment any parent would be proud of.

Thankfully we distracted her enough from that conversation before we got to the next house. However, as we were walking up the sidewalk, what might transpire hit me like a Mack truck. Her obsession had been suckers and now it was balls. Oh please, do not let her ask, “Do you have any balls?” It was a close call, but she didn’t.

To protect the haters, I will save the story about how she left her candy outside her door and the Halloween Fairy took it and replaced it with a non-sugar related surprise.

Check back tonight, I'll post a picture of the GIANT BALLS along with Kate in her costume!